"Is such a thing possible?"
The old man asked in surprise.
His expression said he could not believe it.
"I have handled metal all my life, but I have never heard of a metal that does not bend. Even red stone bends when struck with a hammer, and if you strike it hard, it breaks."
"It is possible."
I spoke firmly.
"But it will be difficult alone. I need your skill, old man."
"What could I possibly do?"
The old man spoke humbly.
He looked down at his bent fingers.
"What could these old hands do?"
"Your skill in handling fire, your skill in controlling temperature."
I looked at the old man as I spoke.
"That is what I need. How to control the temperature, how to read the color of the flames. I need that kind of experience. No matter how much I teach the young men, they cannot grasp the feel of it. It has to be someone like you, old man, someone who has handled fire all his life."
The old man thought for a moment.
He stroked his chin and pondered.
His eyes looked somewhere far away. He seemed to be recalling something.
"Hmm.... Very well. I will help you."
The old man nodded.
"To be honest, I am curious as well. I have done only one thing all my life, so I am glad to be able to learn something new. To learn something new at this age—just thinking about it makes my heart beat faster."
"Thank you."
I bowed my head to the old man.
"First, let us make the smelting furnace."
I showed him the picture drawn on the ground.
I pointed over the drawing with a branch as I explained.
"This is the shape. We make holes in the lower part and connect the bellows. Air must enter for the temperature to rise. This is the air hole, and wind enters here to burn the charcoal. The stronger the wind enters, the hotter the fire becomes."
"Oh...."
The old man examined the drawing closely.
He knelt and brought his nose close to it as he studied it.
His fingers moved along the lines of the drawing.
"This is a design I have never seen before. If we do this, the air will spread evenly. The hearth I used had wind entering from only one side, but this one has it entering from all directions."
"It will be far more efficient."
I nodded.
"We can make a fire hotter than an existing hearth. The temperature should climb to twice as high."
Hot Hands's eyes sparkled.
He looked as delighted as a man who had discovered treasure.
Life returned to his wrinkled face.
"You are incredible, Chieftain. Where did you learn such a thing? This is the first time I have seen a design like this. I have handled fire all my life, but I have never thought of anything like it."
"In a dream."
"A dream?"
"The ancestors taught me."
I spoke calmly.
"The ancestors drew the picture themselves and explained it to me. They came to me every night and taught me each thing one by one."
The old man nodded with a moved expression.
His eyes grew moist.
"It is the wisdom of the ancestors. Understood. I will do everything I can. This old man has been given one great task at the end. To be able to do such work before I die is an honor."
The work continued throughout the morning.
The clay team carried load after load of high-quality clay from the riverbank.
They brought back large leather sacks filled with clay.
It was sticky and heavy.
Each sack was so heavy that a grown man could barely lift it.
"Chieftain, we brought the clay!"
"Will this be enough? Should we bring more?"
The stone team gathered hard pieces of granite.
They carried stones on their backs, sweating heavily as they transported the heavy rocks.
Their faces were covered in sweat.
"We brought stones too!"
"We chose only the hard ones! The size is just right!"
The wood team cut down thick oak trees.
They dragged logs over.
The trees were so thick that four men could barely lift one.
Their girth was as thick as a grown man's waist.
"Oak trees!"
"We chose ones with acorns! This should make a lot of charcoal!"
Ding!
『Material Collection Status』
→ High-Quality Clay: Sufficient
→ Granite Pieces: 80%
→ Oak: Collecting
"Chieftain, we brought the clay!"
A man said as he set down a heavy sack.
He panted for breath.
His back was soaked with sweat.
"Pile it over there."
I pointed to one corner.
"Pile it on that flat spot. It cannot get rained on, so cover it with leaves."
"Are there enough stones?"
Another man asked.
He lowered a sack of stones from his back.
Once he put down the heavy load, his shoulders sagged.
"Gather a little more. We need about twenty more. Make sure the size is even."
"Understood!"
He ran off again.
His back vanished into the forest.
I personally directed the smelting furnace construction.
"First, we need to tamp down the floor."
I pointed at the ground as I spoke.
"After digging the ground, lay stones down and coat clay over them. The floor has to be sturdy for the entire smelting furnace to be stable. If the floor is weak, it will collapse later."
"Like this?"
"Yes, good. Tamp it down harder. Step on it with your feet and make it firm. It must not wobble. Pack it tightly without gaps."
"Yes!"
We dug the ground and laid the stones.
The people dug the ground with stone shovels, leveled it flat, and laid the stones one by one.
The pit was dug fifty centimeters deep.
It was a square shape, about one hundred twenty centimeters on each side.
They kept digging and trimming until the floor became flat.
They scooped out dirt, removed stones, and cut away grass roots.
On top of that, they laid fist-sized stones. Tightly, without any gaps.
They filled the spaces between the stones with smaller stones and tamped them firmly so nothing would shake.
When one person placed a stone, another filled the gaps with small stones.
Over that, they applied a thick layer of clay and tamped it firmly.
The people stepped on it with their feet and struck it with stones to compress the clay.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound of stones striking rang out.
When one person struck it, the person beside him applied more clay.
They struck it again. They applied it again.
The work proceeded with rhythm. A steady beat formed, like music.
As moisture drained from the clay, it hardened.
The clay, which had been soft at first, gradually became firm, and its color also darkened.
From brown to dark brown, and from dark brown to nearly black.
I pressed it with my hand.
At first, my finger sank deep into it, but now it barely entered. It was hardening solidly.
"Chieftain, is this enough?"
"Good."
I nodded.
"Now let us build the walls. Stack clay and stone in alternating layers. One layer of clay, one layer of stone. Repeat that."
"Why mix in stones?"
Fierce Eyes asked with curious eyes.
"Clay alone cannot withstand heat."
I explained.
"It cracks. If you mix in stones, it becomes sturdier."
"Why does it crack?"
"Clay contracts when hot and expands when cold."
I spoke with gestures.
"So it cracks. But stone does not. That is why mixing the two lets them support each other. Even if the clay shrinks, the stones hold it up, and the clay fills the spaces between the stones."
"Ah...."
Fierce Eyes exclaimed in admiration.
"So there was such a principle!"
"And the wall thickness should be about the length of my forearm."
I showed my forearm.
"If it is too thin, heat escapes, and if it is too thick, it takes too long to heat. Exactly this much. It must be filled neither too much nor too little."
"Understood!"
The people answered all at once.
The wall rose little by little.
They applied clay, placed stones, then applied more clay. Slowly and carefully.
Each time they built a layer, they smoothed it with their hands.
They smoothed the uneven parts and pushed protruding stones inward.
Every time it rose ten centimeters, they rested briefly.
It was to give the clay a little time to harden.
If they built too quickly, the lower part would not withstand the weight and would collapse. They could not rush.
The height reached the knees.
Then the waist.
It rose higher and higher.
By the time the sun climbed to the middle of the sky, the wall had risen to chest height.
Old Man Hot Hands helped from the side.
"You should apply a little more clay here. This part looks weak. I see a gap here."
"Yes, good."
I applied more clay.
"I will smooth this part. My hands are used to it."
The old man's hand movements were skilled.
His bent fingers moved over the clay as if gliding.
Unlike the uneven backs of his hands, the sensation in his fingertips was alive. His fingers moved as if dancing, and the clay spread smoothly.
I could feel the experience of decades spent handling fire.
Every motion was natural, without waste. Not a single movement was useless.
He swept his fingertips over the clay surface.
Once, twice, three times. He smoothed the same spot repeatedly.
Then the rough surface became smooth. It grew sleek, like a mirror.
"Old man, your skill is truly excellent."
Solid Rock said in admiration.
"Indeed. Old man, you have fine skill."
"I have wrestled with fire since I was young."
The old man spoke with a smile.
"My hands move on their own. Now I can do it even with my eyes closed. My body remembers."
"That experience is what I need."
I nodded.
"When making bronze, temperature control is most important. Even a difference of one degree can cause failure."
"Temperature control?"
The old man raised his head and looked at me.
"Yes. If it is too low, the metal will not melt, and if it is too high, it will burn away. We must maintain exactly the right temperature. That is the hardest part."
"How can we know the right temperature? Is there a way to measure temperature?"
"Look at the flame color."
I raised a finger as I spoke.
"If it is red, it is insufficient. If it is yellow, it is just right. If it is white, it is too hot. Red is about 700 degrees, yellow about 1,100 degrees, and white about 1,300 degrees."
"Oh...."
Hot Hands's eyes widened.
His mouth fell open in surprise.
"There was such a method. I only did it by feel. To know the temperature by the color of the flames... it is astonishing. I handled fire all my life, yet I did not know."
"It is the same principle as what you learned through experience."
I smiled as I spoke.
"Your instinct was right, old man. You already knew it. You simply could not explain it in words. Knowing with the body and knowing with words are different things."
"Is that so?"
The old man smiled with satisfaction.
The wrinkles on his face deepened, and his eyes softened.
It must have felt as though the work he had done all his life had been recognized.
"My lifetime of experience was not in vain. Only now do I understand what I have been doing."